


The Once and Future King

by Cyberbutterfly, Evenmoor



Series: An Immortal in Jedi Robes [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2020-09-23 22:29:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20347846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberbutterfly/pseuds/Cyberbutterfly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenmoor/pseuds/Evenmoor
Summary: Life didn't really start until he died. Or rather, until he allegedly died. But some mad-man made him an offer he really couldn't refuse and now he's stuck on protection detail for a bunch of Senators, with focus on one in particular.And really, how hard could that be?Then he Bail Organa... Slick really isn't getting paid enough for this.





	1. In Search of Excalibur

**Author's Note:**

> Tie-in with 'Immortal in Jedi Robes'. The first chapter is posted in both and requires a little knowledge of what's going on there to completely understand, but future chapters can be read completely separate from each series. Will be occasional cross overs though.  
Translation for Methos and Yoda's conversation is at bottom of page.

** 6 Years Ago **  
  
"Master, I'm bored."  
  
Beside him, Kenobi's teenage padawan slowly slumped his head back into his seat and looked at his teacher pleadingly. Methos sympathized with his adolescent impatience; the Senate tried even his own patience on the best of days.  
  
"Haven't we been here long enough? No one at the Temple is going to know if we leave early, and even if they do, they won't say anything. Kriff, even Mace and Yoda do it sometimes."  
  
On the other side, Anakin's teacher slowly rubbed the bridge of his nose. Unlike the boy, Obi-wan Kenobi appeared far more engaged in the mind-numbing political proceedings on display.  
  
"Language, Anakin. And please use the Council members' proper titles; it shows respect." The man sighed but turned an understanding face at his student. "I am aware there are a hundred things you would rather be doing right now, but the fact remains that learning about and performing Senate duties is a required part of being a Jedi."  
  
"But, they've been talking for hours!" the boy groaned.  
  
A good part of Methos was tempted to merely sit back and watch the drama unfolding in the Jedi's reserved Senate booth. However, he could see a vein pulsing on the side of Kenobi's head and knew there was a full-on argument brewing. He took mercy and tapped Anakin on the shoulder.  
  
"Anakin, I completely agree with you. Most of this afternoon has been a complete waste of time." He ignored the hard stare Kenobi was giving him as he motioned at the Senate floor. "But there is something going on right now that's a good lesson for you to learn."  
  
The teen looked at him dubiously. Methos leaned in as a show of solidarity.  
  
"Right, so none of this makes sense if you don't know what's going on. Do you?"  
  
Anakin sighed. "Not really."  
  
"I'm not surprised," Methos chuckled. "Politicians use circular speak to purposefully confuse the situation." He nudged the young teen with an elbow. "Although, even _you_ must admit it's an impressive feat to see this many people in one place capable of talking out of their asses"  
  
"_**Methos!**_"  
  
He dismissed Kenobi with a wave. "Oh please, like he hasn't heard worse." And it was nice to hear the teen's open laughter. It was becoming a rare occurrence, and Methos missed the playful young boy he'd become casually acquainted with. He continued on.  
  
"The bulk of the issue is that larger companies have been infringing on small companies' purchased trade routes... The larger companies have argued that it's in those planets' best interest to allow them access to these trade routes as they can make deliveries faster, cheaper, and have more security to ward off pirates, which will keep insurance costs down."  
  
"That doesn't seem so bad," Anakin mused thoughtfully. Methos gave a knowing hum back.  
  
"Not until you stop to think about it." At the padawan's questioning blink, Methos gestured to the assembled senators. "See, it's good for a lot of the wealthier members of the Senate, and Core worlds will definitely benefit. But a lot of the smaller systems rely on having ownership shares on those trade routes for industry; some for the vessels used, some offering security personal, most just for being hired on as workers. Plus, because they are localized businesses that often operate near the Outer Rim, it's the _Core worlds_ that end up paying the higher fees." He turned to look at the boy. "If the larger companies muscle in, that all changes. They'll start by coming in and cutting their fees to the point that the smaller companies will not be able to compete. With those companies gone, they have a monopoly, and the prices of shipping supplies to and from the Outer Rim will become exorbitant."  
  
"That's not fair!"  
  
Methos nodded and turned back to Senator Bail Organa as the imposing Alderaanian continued talking with no sign of slowing down.  
  
"No, it isn't. And Senator Organa doesn't think so either, which is why he is currently pulling off a very clever coup."  
  
The teen blinked, looked at the senator, and then back at Methos.  
  
"He is?"  
  
"Yep!"  
  
"It's called a 'filibuster tactic', although Organa has certainly put his own spin on it." Kenobi chuckled lightly. Anakin turned to look at his teacher in surprise. Now it was Kenobi's turn to lean in.  
  
"You see, Anakin, the large companies rushed to have the bill pushed through the Senate, which didn't leave the smaller companies enough time to even _get here_, never-mind creating a compelling counter argument." He nodded at Bail. "The senator is buying them that time by stalling the floor."  
  
Methos smiled as Anakin suddenly looked far more interested in the event. Kenobi continued.  
  
"While there is a mandate in place limiting the amount of time each party has for presenting a change of bill, there is no such time constraint on any Senator wanting to discuss it. And as the Senate can't settle the bill until all scheduled speakers have had their say... Well, it was no accident that Bail requested his floor time **before **the small businesses. He is forcing the proceeding into a hold-over." Kenobi leaned back and smiled. "Considering that tomorrow is a statutory holiday--"  
  
"-- By the time the senate reconvenes the following day, the companies under threat will be present and should have much better counterpoints to present." Methos continued  
  
"Not to mention being granted longer speaking times, as they're arguments will be the only ones slated for that day." Kenobi finished.  
  
The teen looked thoughtful and Kenobi smiled at him.  
  
"Words are_ powerful_, my young padawan, and there are many ways to wield them. One day you may find them just as effective as any weapon you'll carry."  
  
As Anakin continued to be lost in thought, Kenobi looked above the teen and nodded a silent thanks to Methos. Methos nodded it back absently, deep in his own thoughts as he watched the various reactions as other senators began to realize what Bail was doing; many were not pleased.  
  
He leaned back in his chair and silently added another line to Kenobi's sentence.  
  
_Just never forget you are equally capable of forging enemies with them._

* * *

** 7 Months Ago **  
  
"How can we, in good conscience, claim to be representatives of the Republic's ideals and sit back while sentient beings are created as weapons of war with _no_ regard given to their rights and personal freedoms?! We _should not_ stand for this, we _can not_ stand for this, we _**must not**_ stand for this!"  
  
Methos rubbed his forehead and sighed as the cacophony of angry shouts and jeers rose up from the Senate floor. Naturally Bail Organa simply spoke louder to overcome their voices, but it didn't take the politically-minded to know his words, however compelling, were falling on deaf ears.  
  
There were a steadfast and honourable few who supported Senator Organa, but the majority were simply too scared or too self-serving to allow something as insignificant as morality and ethics get in the way of their agendas. More and more the Senate was turning into a free-for-all, and Bail was burning bridges as fast as he was making them.  
  
Worse, he was making some _very _powerful enemies.  
  
Methos rested his chin on his hand and turned his attention to Chancellor Palpatine.  
  
Outwardly, there was all the signs of a supportive figure who was doing his best to control the floor and keep things peaceful and balanced. But Methos had seen this dance before, and knew better. He noted how Palpatine always made sure to counterman just after the most effective barb had been launched. How the Chancellor, presented with potent evidence, would file it to be considered 'at a more appropriate time' instead of when the evidence would be most impactful. How the time he allowed those arguing **against** the Republic agenda was growing short and shorter.  
  
Bail Organa was a prominent and respected figure within the Senate, Alderaan a key planet within the Core systems, and their extensive spy network an absolute necessity to the continued war effort. But the divide between oppositions was growing wider everyday and Methos was becoming genuinely worried for the man's safety. The universe needed people in power willing to give a damn, and those people needed Bail as a leader.  
  
Methos rubbed his face again and groaned.  
  
"Worried as well, I am. Though, not for same reason I suspect."  
  
"Much as I respect him, that bloody idiot is going to get himself killed."  
  
Beside him Yoda hummed thoughtfully. "Unwise that would be; a martyr he would become."  
  
"Like that would stop them?" Methos snorted sardonically. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, turning to face the Grand Master. "The problem is they wouldn't have to take it that far. They just have to keep pushing against his morals until he's got no choice but to commit political suicide." He sighed again. "Given the state of this circus I'm sure they'd probably end up with a hell of a cue to make it happen."  
  
Yoda turned as well, head tilted, ears raised, and a pesky amount of amusement in his eyes.  
  
"So cynical, Bodach?"  
  
"Just realistic, _Beag dailtin_."  
  
Yoda retorted by trying to whack his thigh with his glimmer stick. Methos caught the blasted rod in his hand and gripped tight, raising an eyebrow in challenge. When the green troll tried to recover his weapon, Methos gripped tighter and twisted slightly. Yoda gave one hard tug, smiled wickedly, and simply released his hold.  
  
He_ should_ have been prepared for it. Instead he got the damn rod in the side of his face. He curse with the impact and could hear the little green troll's laugh as he quickly snatch his walking stick back. Methos rubbed his head and snorted.  
  
"Bloody menace to society you are."  
  
The Grand-master was about to reply when his com went off. He took a quick glance, then sighed as his ears drooped back. Methos shifted. "Problems?"  
  
Yoda hummed absently. "Needed by the Council I am. Leave you I must."  
  
As he began to leave, Methos reacted out and gripped his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Yoda covered his hand with his own and returned the gesture.  
  
"May you be one with the Force--"  
  
"--and with you the Force be."  
  
With that the Jedi patted Methos' hand and walked away. Just before leaving fully leaving the booth, Yoda turned back, tilting his head towards Bail and pointing with his stick.  
  
"Worry not about Senator Organa, you should. Smart he is, and prepared. Considered the repercussions of his actions already he would." With that said he left.  
  
Methos watched the proceedings for a while longer, observing as Mon Mothma of Chandrila stepped in adding her voice to Bail's arguments. Considering his friends words he drummed his fingers as he worked on an idea. Because Bail was smart as an individual, but now he was part of a network of Senators working together. And anyone smart enough to go after him would know the easiest way to break through his defences would be to attack those around him; Bail would always put himself at the head of the firing line. So Methos was going to need to find someone to put ahead of him. Someone people wouldn't look at twice to guard from the shadows.

The problem going to be finding the right sort of person for the job. Fortunately knew someone very good at locating hard to get items. Decisions made he to got up and left. As he walked he switched his comm over to a channel he had not used in a very long time.  
  
"Max, it's me. I'm cashing in a solid you owe me--"

* * *

** 3 Days Ago**  
  
"Well your team did, I hear. Thankful were the ones they rescued."  
  
Methos strolled along with Yoda as they walked the quiet night time halls of the Temple. The peaceful scene did little to alleviate his tension and frustration. The serenity of their surroundings seemed like a cheap mask poorly concealing the chaos that was rapidly consuming the galaxy around them.  
  
"Yes, well, I'm just glad my team got out in one piece. Christophsis is a karking mess and I shouldn't have been ordered to send half of a not-even-fully trained team out into the middle of a hot war zone we had next-to-no intel on."  
  
Beside him, the Grand-master's ears drooped and he looked down at the ground.  
  
"Yes... Regret the necessity I do."  
  
Methos sighed again, forcing his annoyance out along with the breath. As he did he placed two fingers gently on the side of Yoda's face and sent a wave of understanding and forgiveness.  
  
"No... No, I know how this works. Your hand had been just a forced as mine... I always knew the bastards in the Senate were going to invent ways to make me pay for my little stunt. I'd just really hoped they'd keep my team out of it for a while longer."  
  
Yoda sighed, sending a wave of thanks back through the bond. And then they continued to walk, merely enjoying each other's company.  
  
"Their training now, how does it go?"  
  
"Still the craziest bunch of hell raisers in the GAR," Methos smiled affectionately. "Basic training is complete, and I call it a success based on the fact that some of the Mando commanders on Concord Dawn even tried to recruit as few of them out from under me... Didn't work, thankfully- although if Breaker doesn't end up bonded by the time I get back I owe Kal a bottle of aged Tihaar made with Alderaan spice fruit."  
  
Yoda raised his eyebrows, amused and Methos chuckled.  
  
"One of Rau's pilots in training took a shine to him... May their children be both beautiful and utterly terrifying... " He shrugged. "As for the rest of them- I know it was hard for them to break up just as they'd reach full cohesion. But it was time for them to learn some skills other than 'here's how you kill things in interesting ways', and the people that invited citizenship all seemed keen on letting them experience what it means to be a part of their individual cultures." He took a deep breath and braced himself. "Which reminds me--"  
  
He rubbed the back of his head, not exactly wanting to have this part of the conversation but knowing it was long overdue.  
  
"The kids are kicking around here with me in the meantime, and I may have already taken both of them on as want-to-be padawans."  
  
Yoda froze immediately, his ears and eyes shooting up in utter shock. He could feel the masters signature go rigid as well and he knew this wasn't going to be one of the times Yoda played along with another of his irreverent choices.  
  
"The Force, clones cannot use. Jedi they cannot be. Reckless this is. Yes, reckless; and dangerous."  
  
He turned to square off against Yoda and made sure everything from his expression to Force signature left little room for argument. Methos did truly care for the troll, and was one of the few who was allowed to see the hidden sides to the Jedi, but sometimes he had a nasty habit of thinking the way it was and is was the _ only_ way it could be. That kind of thinking - especially when it came to his troops - could go hang itself. He hadn't spent four months getting his team to believe they could do or become anything they wanted to simply to turn around and say 'sorry, not allowed' when the kids finally took him up on the offer.  
  
"Not saying they can... We've talked at length and the kids know that. But they wanted to learn what it means to be a Jedi - and that doesn't take Force powers to understand, just being taught about our way of life." Methos huffed as he waved at the space around them. "What harm could it possibly do to teach them? What _great catastrophe_ will befall this place if suddenly someone other than a Jedi started following our ideals?"  
  
He knew when Yoda was preparing to argue. It didn't happen often with them, but when it did it was often explosive. Probably because he was one of the few fully willing to full toe to toe with the Grand-master. He didn't want that to happen here, so he did what it took to end the fight before it began; he fought dirty. He quickly leaned down and snarled out-  
  
"Ni dhiultoidh me do na parsti seo an chead iarratas a rinneadh mar shaor daonna mar gheall ar bhearlagar neamhfharleatha na. _Na _ cuir dushlan romham caillfidh tu. _ **Go halc**__._"

Yoda took a step back, jerking at the deadly resolve flung at him in his own language. For a moment they just stared, speaking without words, before the Grand-master narrowed his eyes, raised his glimmer stick, and jabbed it in his direction snapping out-  
  
"Angceapann tu go hionraic nach mbaineann ach moill le mo imni? Is cuimhin liom na sean-bhealai direach mar a dheanann tu. _Na _cuimhin leat nach n-ioctar larmhairtii gconai ar bhealai intuartha?"

The Grand-master paused, taking a breath and exhaling slowly, ears drooping back. For a moment there was silence between the two as Methos tried to work out what had the small troll so worried. Then Yoda scrubbed his face with one hand and huffed out a frustrated sigh.

“Tagann dioma ar **praghas, **Bodach. Roinnt conspoide i leith an Ordaithe ata ar eolas agat; cuid nach bhfuil tu.” The grand-master turned abruptly, his glimmer stick echoing as it struck the floor as he continued. “Muin do mhic cad is mian leo a beheith ar eolas agat, ach dean _amhlaidh_. Is laethanta contuirteacha lad seo, agus ta eagla orm ar son ar bpaisti go leir."

After a few steps Yoda paused-  
  
"Acr Methos" The small master turned, expression tight and determined. “Na biodh bagairt orm riamh mar sin aris.”  
  
With that, he continued on. Methos watched until he'd turned out of sight before letting out a deep breath and rubbing his face while muttering a 'bloody brilliant'. He practically jumped out his skin when his comm chipped in his pocket. After digging it out he listened to the message left on it.  
  
"Hiya, handsome, it's your favourite grab-all. Remember that favour you asked for? Well, I think I've found just the guy for you. All his info has been transferred to your personal pad, but you might wanna move fast, this one comes with a deadline. _Literally_."  
  
Pushing his thoughts of stubborn green trolls out of his mind he quickly made his way to his apartment.

* * *

It was sunrise before he'd fully read over Max's intel. Well, actually that had been fairly quick; it was the two re-reads, as well as checking with archived Jedi reports to verify that what he was reading wasn't a work of fiction, that took him all night.  
  
The man was perfect for the job. He had most of the necessary skills, was intelligent, sly, and most of all pissed off enough by the status quo to be willing to consider Methos' offer. There was just one catch.  
  
He was also on death row.  
  
Methos leaned back on the sofa and sent Max off a follow up. Then he shut his eyes and drifted. He snapped awake a short while after at the sound of a door opening. He watched as Humble quietly smiled at him and came over to sit down next to him. He reached over and playfully ruffled the boy's hair. Humble in turn jerked out of his reach and then lunged into an attack. The play-fighting ended when they both tumbled onto the floor, trying to suppress their laughter. Humble sighed and Methos tapped him on the head.  
  
"How did you sleep?"  
  
"Not bad," Humble shrugged. "Still not used to everything being so quiet, though. After Kamino and Concord, having all this space to ourselves just feels... weird."  
  
"It's understandable. Even I keep expecting someone to run in asking if I know who took their equipment, or to step around a corner and have something random launched at my face. Or even just one of the twins showing their allergy to knocking and bursting in through the door."  
  
"Or one of them blowing up the door because locks offend them."  
  
"Oh, kriff, I'd forgotten about that," Methos groaned. "Remind me later so I can plot my revenge."  
  
"Revenge against whom?" Cadet 6389, now known as Junior to his brothers, entered the room with a yawn.  
  
"The twins," snickered Humble, clearly anticipating whatever sneaky payback Methos would loose on the two troublemakers.  
  
The younger boy just nodded and mumble 'oh', clearly still waking up, and snuggled up to his brother on the sofa. Eventually the weight of the younger boy pushed Humble over until he was resting against Methos' side. He shifted slightly so they could all be more comfortable and they all simply stretched and drifted in and out. The were all jolted back awake by the sound of a chirp. Methos sat up and tried to find the location of the noise. When the pad chirped again, they all started looking for it.  
  
"Got it!"  
  
Junior handed him the pad and he activated it, reading the return message Max had left.  
  
"Three days from now. There's a shift change in the evening around the same time maintenance is scheduled to swap out some of their older monitor feeds. I can implant a virus that will stall them for a click. You're not going to have time for a heart-to-heart, but I'll give you what I can."  
  
Reading the message upside down, Humble tilted his head in confusion.  
  
"You're going on a mission," he realized.  
  
Methos wiggled the pad back and forth.  
  
"Yes and no. I've got something to take care of, but I don't have to go anywhere. I've got a few friends who are going to need some help- but the one who I'm hoping will help them needs a bit of his own."  
  
Junior hummed thoughtfully. "Sounds complicated."  
  
"Yes and no."  
  
He smiled at their dual snorts and got up, sending Max a quick thanks, as he called out over his shoulder.  
  
"Right! Who wants breakfast?"  
  
He couldn't help but laugh at their whoops of delight.

* * *

  
  
**NOW**  
  
True to her word, Max had everything under control and Methos was almost disappointed with how easy it had been to sneak into the prison. It also hadn't taken long to find the prisoner considering he was the only one held on this block.  
  
Methos took a moment to watch from the shadows as the prisoner paced a circuit around his cell. The hopeless routine of someone who believed they only had one move left to go. As the man had his back to him he entered the override code to the energy field and slid into cell. It was the despair radiating off the man that hit him first, and it occurred to him that had he waited any longer he might not be having this conversation.  
  
Just as the man turned, Methos decided to add his two cents to his internal debate.  
  
"You know, suicide would be the easy way out."  
  
For a moment, Sergeant Slick looked at him like he was the greatest miracle that had ever been pulled. But just as quickly, the hope washed away again and the man slumped against the far wall with resigned disbelief.  
  
"Who are you supposed to be?"  
  
And that confirmed Methos's suspicions. He smirked, playing up to expectations  
  
"I'm fairly sure you're convinced that I'm a product of your imagination, so does it really matter? Really, I can be anyone you want me to be. But, for the ease of conversation, call me Ben."  
  
The reply was immediate and tense.  
  
"Fine. Why are you here?"  
  
And Methos settled in for a short, interesting, and crucial conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation notes:
> 
> Methos: “I won't deny these kids their first request made as free human beings simply because of pointless dogma. Do not challenge me. You'll lose. Badly. ”  
Yoda: “Do you honestly think my concern is merely about decorum? I remember the old ways just as you do. Do you remember that consequences are not always paid in predictable ways?”  
Yoda: “Defiance comes at a price, Bodach (pet name for Methos. Means 'wise teacher'). Some adversity towards the Order you are aware of; some you are not... Teach your sons what they wish to know, but do so quietly. These are dangerous days and I fear for all our children."  
Yoda: “And Methos... Don't ever threaten me like that again.”


	2. Sergeant Slick is Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Evenmoor. She posted it on her own page a while ago, so if it seems familiar to you- you've probably read it. Here it is though, in all it's glory and now part of a larger piece of fiction.

Slick, disgraced former sergeant in the Grand Army of the Republic and traitor to his brothers, paced angrily in his cell. Though, at this point, it was more than a little out of boredom and frustration than actual anger anymore. Or maybe he’d been pacing in this tiny room so long it had become habit. Muscle memory. He had nothing else to do. Nothing.

Nothing. It had all been for nothing. His great betrayal. He saw no one, only the droids who delivered his food. Apparently, none of his brothers were willing to do it. With only his own thoughts as company, Slick now gazed over the precipice where he would stop bothering to pace. To eat. Simply… stop.

“Suicide would be the easy way out,” a voice said suddenly.

Slick’s head snapped around in shock. There was a person. An actual person, in the cell with him.

Not a clone, nor was the man wearing a GAR uniform. But not dressed like one of the karking Jedi, either. A civilian? But how had he gotten into the cell? Slick would surely have noticed someone opening the door. How-- Oh.

Slick sagged against a wall. He’d finally lost his mind from the isolation, it seemed. It had to happen sooner or later.

“Who are you supposed to be?” he asked in resignation. Older in appearance than any _ vod_, with a paler complexion and a nose that resembled the prow of a cruiser. Where had this man’s face come from? At least it was a change in pace from staring at an empty room.

The man smirked, slouching casually against the opposite wall.

“I’m fairly sure you’re convinced that I’m a product of your imagination, so does it really matter? Really, I can be anyone you want me to be. But, for the ease of conversation, call me Ben.”

“Fine. Why are you here?” Even if this Ben character was the result of his mind finally cracking, Slick found it bizarrely easy to simply treat him as actually real and present. As tortures of a delusional mind went, Ben was merely annoying. And he didn’t have the face or voice of a _ vod_. It wasn’t like Slick had anything else to do, anyway.

Ben’s gaze flickered across the bare cell, as if taking it all in.

“I heard what happened. How you passed information to the Separatists and destroyed the weapons depot. You’re not very popular out there right now. I’m really rather surprised you didn’t trip over a thermal detonator on your way here.”

“They don’t get it,” Slick sighed, gesturing vaguely towards the door. To his brothers. “None of them get it. We’re slaves, fighting and dying at the bidding of the Jedi, and we’re all just walking right into the blaster fire at their whim!”

“Indeed, for an ancient order that proclaims itself to be about peace and justice, the Jedi sure seem to be big on hypocrisy,” Ben agreed easily, his slouch deepening. Slick was momentarily taken aback by the immediate concurrence. He half-expected Ben to object. “So, the plan was get the big payoff from the Separatists and desert at the first available opportunity.”

“I just wanted something more! More than... than _this_! How is that wrong?”

“Oh, it’s not wrong. Your desire to determine your own destiny is perfectly rational and sound for any sentient being.”

Slick narrowed his eyes suspiciously, standing up straight once more.

“I’m not an idiot,” he growled at the apparition. “Don’t treat me like one.”

“I’m not! I really do think that forcing the clones to fight this war is wrong,” Ben protested fervently, which transformed abruptly back into his original careless smirk. “The manner in which you decided to demonstrate your independence, however, was mind-blowingly stupid.”

Slick's temper flared before he remembered that he was talking to himself. A figment of his own mind. He might as well punch himself if he punched Ben.

“If you weren’t a hallucination, I’d put my fist through your face.”

“If I were a hallucination, you really would put your fist through my face. And probably damage your hand on the wall, so it’s just as well you didn’t take a swing at me.” Ben seemed entirely untroubled by Slick’s threat.

“So, I assume you’re gonna tell me exactly how I was so stupid. Because it’s really gonna make one karking bit of difference now,” Slick snorted in derision, forcing down his anger.

“First off, you actually trusted the Separatists to keep up their end of the bargain when it’s in their best interests to just string you along until you get caught and either killed attempting escape or shot by firing squad. They lose nothing, not even whatever credits they promised. The Republic loses hundreds, if not thousands, of soldiers and valuable matériel. And you, well... you lose everything.”

Slick glared at the other man, but refused to respond. Ben shrugged slightly after a moment of silence.

“I’m curious -- what would you do if, hypothetically speaking, say, a Jedi came and offered you a way out?”

“I’d sooner shoot the Jedi in the face.” Slick’s anger turned to cold distaste. “They’re responsible for putting me in this hole in the first place.”

“No, you are responsible for putting yourself here. Credit where credit’s due. No Jedi compelled you to spy for the Separatists or blow up a weapons depot. You see, you are just so wound up in your own problems that you completely missed that almost every other clone trooper in the GAR is in the same boat you are. And your actions, yours, got I don’t even know how many of them killed. Were any of them just as unhappy being soldiers as you? Wished they were somewhere, anywhere else? Or did they love it, believe in the Republic cause with every fiber of their being? I don’t know. But neither do you. And now they’re dead, regardless. That’s on you, Slick, not the Jedi.”

Slick felt the blood drain from his face, and he looked away, unable to maintain eye contact. But Ben ruthlessly stepped back into his line of sight.

“Remember Jester, Gus, Punch? Sketch? Chopper? They trusted you. You were their sergeant. You were their brother. And every trooper who died because of your betrayal, they were your brothers, too.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Slick collapsed against the wall, sliding to the floor in despair and resting his forehead in his palms. “It’s not like I can bring them back. What’s done is done.”

“Of _course_ it still matters. Even if you die here in this room, five minutes from now, _it still matters_. It took me a very long time to accept this, but how you die can be just as important as how you live. A man can be a coward for a lifetime but still perform a final heroic act that redeems him. Another man could be a noble and righteous force for good, only to betray it all in the end. Even if no other soul in the universe knows. So no, you can’t change the past. But imagine just for a moment that you could change the _ future_: if you could leave this room, would you go find the nearest blaster and end it? Would you run away from everything, find some lonely corner of the cosmos and try to hide from it all? Who will you be? Because Slick, traitor to the GAR, is dead, one way or the other. So, I’ll ask you again: if you could walk out of here, what would you do?”

Slick opened his mouth to say something, only to close it again a moment later as he realized that he had no words. Ever since the cell doors had closed on him, his world, his whole existence, had shrunk to the size of this room. To leave here, with everything that had happened, it just seemed impossible. And yet, despite the despair of a few minutes earlier, Slick abruptly realized something: he wanted to live.

But he could no longer be a soldier in this war. He would not dance to the Jedi’s tune. And his brothers hated him. What was left for him?

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted.

Ben stepped up to him, practically within reach.

“Live. Grow stronger. Fight another day. You’re not the only person to have betrayed his brothers and paid the price. This war has taken on a life of its own, and I think the Jedi are just as much pawns as the clones,” he said seriously. But Slick could see a peculiar glint in Ben’s eyes, glittering in the harsh lighting of the cell.

Slick suddenly had a very odd feeling. Without thinking, he reached out and put his hand on Ben’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of flesh and bone beneath the fabric of his tunic.

“But…” Slick half-whispered.

“I never actually said I was a hallucination, did I?” Ben abruptly grinned. “Either that, or you’re so utterly delusional that it doesn’t matter in the slightest. So, do you want to stay here in your box, or get another chance at life? You have about fifteen seconds to make up your mind before they realize someone’s in here with you and get curious.”

All things considered, it really wasn’t that hard a decision for Slick.


	3. Long Live Sergeant Slick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slick faces his imminent execution.

Days passed, then a week. Slick wasn't sure what he'd expected, but if there was any sort of grand rescue plan he certainly wasn't seeing it. He slowly accepted the fact that the phantom who'd shown up promising escape had all been in his head after all and resigned himself to both his apparent insanity and fast approaching execution.

The scheduled day was like all the days before. Suffocating solitude awash in the sickly bright lights of his cell. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a droid snapped the cells shielding down just long enough to set a tray of food down on the bench. It wasn't the usual droid, but it kept to the shadows and he couldn't see enough detail to recognize its design. The droid nodded to the food and spoke in a chipper female voice.

"Enjoy the meal."

Slick blinked incredulously at the ridiculous statement, but the droid had already left.

"Go kriff yourself," he muttered at the empty space the droid had recently occupied.

He looked down at the tray. He sighed, and considered throwing the whole thing across the room to make one more useless point. No, he decided, he was going to enjoy his last meal out of sheer spite. He dragged the tray over and lifted the cover.

There was a small note sitting on the utensils.

_Eat slow and savour. Just make sure to eat _ _ **all** _ _ of it._

Was it poisoned? It was a novel thought, but not exactly a logical one. You don't poison a man you're going to shoot in a couple of hours. (The larger, bitter part of his mind reminded him that, if nothing else, they wouldn't consider a clone worth the resources needed to kill him two different ways.) He picked up his utensils and resolutely took a mouthful of the side vegetables. They were fresh. He'd never tasted fresh vegetables before.

After he'd finished the meal he looked down and laughed humorlessly.

Naturally, of course, it had been the best meal he'd ever eaten.  
  


* * *

"Place your hand behind your back, put your arms through the slots."

Outwardly, Slick calmly did as he was told. Internally, he **seethed.**

Months. He'd gone _months_ without seeing another _vod_, denied every request to even simply comm his batch-mates. Well, his request had finally been granted in the worst way possible. Faceless, nameless clones who wouldn't look at him were here to execute him.

It would have been different if he thought they didn't mind. _Osik_, it wouldn't shock him to think they'd volunteered. But the plain, unpainted, white armour each of them wore - the halting way they spoke... It was _wrong_. The _vode_ were Mandos in spirit, if not in reality. If it had been their choice there would be no hesitation. They wouldn't have hidden their faces.

As they snapped the stasis cuffs around his wrists he clenched his hands so tightly his nails drove into his palms and drew blood.

**No**, the Senate had ordered these men to kill him and they were forced to obey. They all knew what happened to clones who didn't. It was the final slap to his face. The final act of dismissal to show just how little any of them truly meant to the Republic.

He couldn't hear the shields shut down over the blood thrumming in his ears, but he felt it. He turned around and staggered slightly as the world continued to spin. One of the others reached out to steady him, but stopped as if suddenly realizing he shouldn't. Slick closed his eyes and took a breath, trying to force his heartbeat into some kind of even rhythm.

He wasn't very successful.

Finally he opened his eyes and steadied himself.

"Let's get this done."

A couple of the others looked to the one closest to him who nodded and stepped back motioning down the corridor.

"Follow us."

They fell into step. Procedure was to keep a step behind a prisoner, watching for signs of threat or escape; but two clones stepped in to walk shoulder to shoulder with him, while the others shifted into more of a protective flanking manoeuvre. His heart continued to race and his breathing quickened. He closed his eyes and let the presence of fellow clones act as comfort - cold as it was.

He was going to die.

His hands were starting to shake, his breath coming faster. He tried not to let any of it show. He didn't think he was even all that nervous about it. Disappointed, yes. Bitter, yes. Mad as hell, _kark yes_. But it felt wrong to be scared. Clearly, his body felt otherwise. His eyes snapped open when a firm hand gripped his elbow, tugging him back. He looked out at an empty, colourless room and let himself be handled until he was up against the far wall. He took a breath as all but the two clones took their place at the other end. A droid stepped forward and mono-toned--

"Sergeant CC-1988, you are hereby charged with 5 counts of high treason against the Republic as well as 79 counts of manslaughter. You are sentenced to death by firing squad to be carried out immediately. Do you have anything you would like to say in your defence?"

He had plenty he'd like to say; nothing that would make a difference.

"No."

"Then we shall proceed. All gunmen to their positions, please."

One of the troopers touched his arm briefly, then turned slowly and walked away. The other took a breath, his voice carrying quietly as he turned.

"Whatever you earned, _vod_, it shouldn't be this."

Slick's already narrowing vision went sharp as he heard the man's cadence. A wave of ice ran down his spine.

_No, they __**wouldn't**_**.** Not even the Senate or Jedi could be that cruel.

"Jester...?!"

The clone, his _vod_, paused minutely.

"I'm... so sorry."

Slick felt his heart skipping beats as his mind scrambled. He tried to get air into his lungs, gasping out a noise - not quite a laugh, almost a sob, maybe a snarl - as he watched Jester (his brother, his blood, his _vod_) join the others. He could see them now, recognized the body language no amount of anonymous, unmarked armour could hide. He could see the slight tremble in the three he knew were his brothers as they readied themselves for the kill order. He took another gulp of air and remembered something the phantom had said sitting in his cell.

_"Of course it still matters... How you die can be just as important as how you live. A man can be a coward for a lifetime but still perform a final heroic act that redeems him."_

He looked at the clones across from him. His death was punishment, but it was their involvement acting as a warning to any clone that might have ideas to follow suit. They would walk away from this haunted and broken from the memory, and every clone that looked at them would understand the cost of going against the Republic Machine.

The droid raised a hand.

"Ready firing stance."

"**Wait**."

The droid paused. Slick forced a deep breath and locked legs that threatened to buckle underneath his weight. One final act. For his _vod_.

"It's going to be okay. I--" He swallowed again. "--_I_ did this, not you. You deserve better than this... We _all_ deserve better than this." He took a breath and looked each of them in the eye. "Don't let this break you. I'd rather die by your hands than another. There's honour in this." Another breath. "Ni kyr'adyc, gar su'cuyin. Gar partayli, ni darasuum."

_I am dead, but you're alive. You'll remember me, so I am eternal._ Not the usual death rites, but it felt... right.

He stood tall and glared at the droid defiantly despite feeling like he was about to keel over. He would face his death on his feet, with his eyes open.

"We're Mandos where it counts. We don't fear death and we don't deny it to one ready to take the long march." He smiled a warrior's grin. "Rather nice day for a stroll if you ask me."

In the silence that followed he could swear he heard all their heartbeats. Or maybe it was simply his own, thundering in his ears. But he thought maybe his brothers were standing a little straighter, hands holding blasters a little steadier. It wasn't much as redemption went, but it would have to be enough.

When the droid realized he was finished he resumed raising his hand.

Sergeant Slick, traitor to the Republic and his brothers, closed his eyes and welcomed the looming black.

"Fire."

The black welcomed him back.

* * *

He was warm. Floating and warm in a sea of not-quite-darkness. There was a sound like waves in his ears and soft voices in the distance. It was peaceful and he realized that if this was death, it really wasn't that bad.

The peaceful bliss lasted all of around five minutes before it suddenly felt like an assassin droid had his head in a vice grip as his pulse thundered in his ears and his body was consumed in flames. While being repeatedly stepped on by an AT-TE. He opened his eyes to the searing pain of too-bright lights and the nauseating sensation of motion without moving. It took his stomach around three seconds to decide what it thought of that before he lunged over the side of the medical bed he was apparently lying on and purged the entirety of its contents. He had just enough awareness to at least aim for the bucket someone had oh-so-helpfully provided.

Mostly.

After he'd brought up what felt like everything he'd ever eaten since Kamino (so much for that exceptionally tasty last meal he'd been given), he dragged himself back flat onto the bed and let the room continue to spin as he kept his eyes closed and wished that he could go back to being dead. He sucked in a breath and squinted his eyes back open when something loomed over him. Through half-closed lids, he stared up into the face of the weirdest droid he'd ever seen.

"Well, well, look who's back online!" the droid cheerfully observed, then glanced at the mess he'd made by the bed. "Ah, internal systems giving you the hard reboot, I see."

After a long, hard moment, he thought he recognized the outline of the droid. He _definitely_ recognized the feminine voice. And that led him to a series of surprising conclusions.

"You... _karking clanker_... Poisoning someone about to be shot, really?!"

"I only poisoned you a little. Well, okay - a lot, actually. A clone's metabolism is designed to be exceptionally robust." The droid shrugged. It really was an odd gesture to see coming from a droid.

"Getting someone out of a cell is easy. Getting them out in a way that doesn't lead to manhunts and investigations - that takes effort. And a bit of discomfort for the party on the receiving end." She waved at the bucket. "As you already know. And 'clanker,' _really_? Don't begin to compare me to those discount bin rejects the Separatists throw around."

He... he honestly didn't know how to respond to that. He wasn't sure about anything right now.

"So. What happens now?"

He swore the droid smiled at that. It didn't matter that the droid didn't have a facial structure capable of smiling. Somehow, it still did.

"Well... I think that's up to you, kiddo. After all, the king is dead; long live the king."

"Huh?" He squinted harder in confusion, trying to make sense of that statement through his spinning head.

"Our mutual friend told you he would get you out. I think even in your current condition you'll have noted that you're out. What happens from this point on is up to you," the droid responded reasonably. 

When he went to get up she reached out and pushed him back down.

"Easy! It doesn't have to be right this minute. Even your exceptionally robust metabolism needs time to recover from basically dying." She held up a hypo-spray and wiggled it. "At the moment, your body is in desperate need of a nutritional shot and a **lot** more sleep before it's ready for anything."

He leaned back and then stared blankly at the droid as she stood over him expectantly. After a second he realized that she was waiting for permission to inject him. No one had ever offered him that courtesy. Not from the moment he was decanted had anyone asked. The simple courtesy - _from a droid!_ \- caused his throat to tighten involuntarily. Instead of trying to formulate a response, he chose to simply nod at the hypo. He felt the cool liquid going into his arm and the tingle as his body reacted to the mild sedative that was part of the payload. It occurred to him he was missing a key piece of information and he mumbled out -

"What'll th'y call you?"

He felt the droid pat his shoulder gently.

"Name's Max, sweetie. Now get some rest."

Once again he fell into the black's embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two sources of inspiration that went into the creation of Max. I liked the L3-37 character (Solo movie) and the idea that a droid could hold a degree of independence. I just wish they'd done more with her. Also inspired by the idea of the Information Broker (Mass Effect). I also needed a character to train Slick as a undercover bodyguard because I realized the timeline for this story and Immortal in Jedi Robes didn't line up to allow Methos to do it. As always all comments and constructive critiques are appreciated.


End file.
